Planning Costumes
by Hutchie
Summary: Starsky and Hutch discuss Halloween costumes.


_**Written for 15_min_fic on LJ. A (very belated) pre-Halloween tale. Just some banter, nothing serious.**_

**Planning Costumes**

by Allie

"I want to go to the Halloween party as something with menace." Starsky sat on the edge of their shared desks and kicked his feet in the air, smiling in anticipation. "Something really scary."

"I can think of two good options right here and now," said Hutch, not looking up from his laborious typing. He hit several more keys with finality and the typewriter dinged, reaching the end of the line. Starsky jumped a little as the armature bumped against his rear, and shifted further towards the end of the desk.

"Well, Hutch? What? Don't keep me in suspenders. I'm thinking Dracula."

"Dracula? Tsk. No. Dracula gets a laugh. You can't play it serious, Starsk. You never could."

"Okay, fine. You want to be Dracula?" Starsky's eyes narrowed. "You're lookin' pale enough."

"So I haven't had time to get a decent tan. Sue me."

"Can't." Starsky's heels thumped against the desk. "What's menacing?"

"You could go as yourself. That's pretty menacing. Dress up as a cop…take your badge and gun…hey maybe you could even get in uniform and stuff those curls under a regulation hat." He smirked.

Starsky grinned a little, relishing the image. "Only if you do the same, buddy-boy. What's the other ideas?"

"Two, you could go as the Red Menace."

Starsky stared at him. "Huh?"

"It's a—a mix between a stupid super villain and a play on words. You'd dress all in red, and carry a sickle and hammer… No?" He shook his head slightly, raising his eyebrows.

"That's dumb, Hutch. Really dumb. What's your third option?"

"Number three—for something REALLY menacing… you ready, Starsk?" He yanked the paper from the typewriter, poked at Starsky to move, then put it down on the desk to sign his name at the end.

"I said I was." Starsky stood waiting for him to finish signing, and looked over his shoulder as he did so. "Don't spell your name wrong."

"Starsk."

"Well, quit making me wait, then. This Halloween party is serious business for some of us, even if you plan to go as something stupid again this year."

"Oh, you thought going as a chef was stupid?"

"Yeah, 'cuz you lost your hat! Nobody could tell what you were."

"So you told them I was the Pillsbury Doughboy. Thanks a lot for that, by the way." He recapped the pen, picked up his paper, and waved it in the air to dry his signature.

"Menacing," Starsky reminded, drawing his eyebrows down and giving Hutch a fierce look.

"Oh. Well, that's simple, and, and elementary, Starsk." Hutch's voice was light, with a laugh hidden behind his words.

Starsky eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"Go as Dennis the Menace." He laughed at his own joke.

"I'll give you Dennis the Menace! I thought you had a good suggestion?" He pretended to punch Hutch in the arm, but grinned ruefully at the same time.

Hutch got up, still grinning, and went to deliver his paper. His foot caught on the edge of the desk—the same edge that had tripped him up countless times before—and stumbled. The desk scraped a little, people around the squad room looked up, and then went back to their work.

Starsky moved quickly; he caught Hutch's shoulders and held him upright. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, Hutch looking anxious and flustered and embarrassed, Starsky checking to see if he was okay. Then he released Hutch, and Hutch brushed off his shirt, his mouth tight, and his face red. He'd managed to crumple his paper. Starsky tugged it gently from his hand and smoothed it out the best he could.

"Did you bruise yourself again?" asked Starsky in a low voice.

He shook his head. "Just barked my shin."

Starsky winced in sympathy. Then he spoke up louder. "I tell you what I'll go as. I'll go as Hutch the Menace and trip over my own feet."

"You're hilarious," said Hutch, but he grinned a little in spite of himself, a goofy grin. "And I'll go as Starsky the Menace, and squeal into the parking lot in your car."

"You are NOT takin' my car for a Halloween costume, Hutchinson."

"Starsky." Hutch pointed the Hutchinson Finger at him. "You used my car last year. It would be only fair."

Starsky made a face. "I needed to drive a coffin."

_Written for the prompt: Menace_


End file.
